


The Gift

by asubtlehum (the_diversionist)



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-18
Updated: 2013-10-18
Packaged: 2017-12-29 19:08:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1008994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_diversionist/pseuds/asubtlehum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dragonborn dunmer Azalia must put up with her new housecarl Lydia who is less than impressed by her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Jarl Balgruuf of Whiterun gives Azalia a housecarl for her trouble. Azalia crosses her arms gently and regards Lydia. However friendly Jarl Balgruuf may be, his sentiments or talent for hiding any disgust for Azalia and her dunmer kind has not been extended to her new pet. Lovely. She defeats a dragon and in exchange gets an empty title of Thane and a Nord woman who obviously doesn't think she's worth the dirt on her boots.

"I really don't need a housecarl," Azalia tells Jarl Balgruuf who remains draped along his throne like a lazy cat. Irileth continues to give Azalia the evil eye. Azalia wonders if she ought to tell her she has no interest in Balgruuf. How did a dunmer become as uppity as a damned Nord? "I'm perfectly capable of carrying my own burdens."

"Do you insult the Jarl with your refusal?" Irileth demands. Lydia casts a heated look to Irileth. Azalia would tell Lydia that she too finds the dunmer overbearing and irritating but isn't sure that she wants to confer any more with the Nord woman. "You will take what you are given and you will like it. Neither one of you," she looks from Azalia to Lydia, "is worthy of the honor that has been bestowed to you."

"As if dark elves knows anything about honor," Lydia fires back.

"This is all so lovely," Azalia lifts a pale blue hand to her reddish copper hair, "but this gentle refusal is turning into more trouble than it's worth." She looks Lydia over and sighs inwardly. "Thank you Jarl Balgruuf for your wonderful …donation," the last word sours on her lips. "If I ever have enough coin to buy bread on the regular I may even purchase Breezehome as you have suggested." Ah, yes, why not spend all the coin she can get to live in a Nord city. They'll welcome her with open arms, they will.

Irileth looks at her deadly. Jarl Balgruuf waves at her. "Good journey to you, Thane Azalia. Lydia will serve you well on your travels and your home."

Azalia looks at Lydia who shifts her eyes away and sighs as if the entire conversation has been a grand waste of her time. Azalia supposes that it has. She begins the walk out of Dragonsreach, mentally bidding goodbye to the red carpets and the fineries. Back to sleeping on dirt and grass. She has missed the night sky. She is not as fond of the cold, stone palaces. Lydia pads beside her. "You have no say in all of this?" Azalia asks. Lydia stares straight ahead without response. "You're chatty too. This will make all the time in the world fly by. You can leave whenever you want."

"Jarl Balgruuf commands me. If he wants me to be your sword and your shield I shall be. Though I question his judgment I cannot question his judgment. I did not know I was so little to him to be passed over to you as if I were a ham."

"You're no ham. I rather enjoy ham." Azalia says. Lydia hmphs. No sense of humor this one. "If it makes you feel better I doubt you'll have to spend much time being my sword and shield. I'm rather capable of taking care of myself."

"The Jarl said that you defeated a dragon. They say you're Dragonborn but the people say a lot of things."

"I could show you the bones if you've any doubt." Azalia grins. "Maybe I ought to make you carry them for further proof."

"You're funny," Lydia says but there isn't a smile or shred of humor in her words.

What a prize the Jarl has given her.

* * *

"Look ho, there are some bandits." Azalia points.

"What have you just called me?" Lydia glares at her venomously, her usual sort of look saved for Azalia.

"What do you mean?" Azalia asks, perturbed. She's called her nothing. The Nord takes issue with everything Azalia says or does perfectly innocent as it may be. "Pay attention."

They crouch behind a massive grey boulder. In the distance there are some ruffians donned in furs, blood is caked on their faces and hands but they're laughing. They are cloistered around a fire where a black pot hangs. Azalia's stomach grumbles and she wonders if they might be able to sup from whatever meal they might have cooked. She has found some potatoes if nothing more, perhaps they could cook them.

Azalia forgets thoughts of food to focus on the issue at hand. Getting around the bandits is quite impossible. Aside from the boulder there's little else for cover. The day is beautiful and sunny without any clouds. There are five bandits, two with bows on their backs, one with a massive hammer and two with swords. "I think it's best if we sneak around," Azalia whispers. "I can use some fire to—"

"For the glory of the Nords!" Lydia shouts, sword brandished.

Azalia reaches for her feebly as Lydia rounds the corner and charges them. Damn the daft woman! Azalia races after her, tripping over a small hidden rock in the grassy field and nearly tumbling to her feet. The bandits have spotted them now and come at them. Azalia sees a blond braided head go tumbling towards her and she blanches. Disgusting. Still, it's important to encourage her: "Good job, Lydia!"

Lydia isn't listening. Azalia curls her fingers, magic racing through them like a charge. She tries to get in a good shot but Lydia is in her way. No matter which way she moves the woman seems always to get in front of her. "Fuck, Lydia! Get out of the way!" Azalia shouts. Lydia turns to give her a look and gets an arrow to the knee. She kneels. Azalia's eyes widen but she doesn't hesitate. She sends a fireball hurling in one direction and a bandit woman, a cocky shit of a thing previously detailing how she was planning to kill her is reduced to ashes.

Lydia, bless her Nord heart, may be kneeling but isn't useless. She hacks off the leg of one of the sword bandits, lifting her shield as his sword crashed down. He falls to the ground and shouts, writhing around, blood pumping from his stump of a leg. Azalia meanwhile manages to dodge an arrow that nearly takes out her eye. She pulls a dagger from her belt and hurls it at one of the archers. It catches her in the throat and she falls over. There's only one left now and Azalia whips a hand toward him. The bandit sees the fate of his friends and turns to run but the lightning catches him. He shouts and convulses in place before falling over.

Azalia breathes raggedly. "I think we need to reconsider our battle tactics." She looks at the bandit in the distance, blackened and smoldering. "The poor bastard didn't see his shocking ending. Do you get it Lydia? Shocking?" She looks at Lydia who remains close to the ground. The Nord snaps the arrowhead off and yanks the arrow out, letting out a small cry. "Actually, I'll rephrase that to say that you ought to consider your battle tactics."

"Shove it up your blue ass, elf!" Lydia moans, she holds her hand to her leg, fingers squeezing tight as blood pulses from beneath it.

"Are all Nords so stupid or is it only you? I can't believe you'd bring any glory to the Nords with tactics like that." Azalia sits on the ground next to her and watches Lydia grimace. "Need help?"

"Not from the likes of you," Lydia says through clenched teeth.

Azalia sees the tears of pain in Lydia's eyes, tears that she's too proud to shed. Azalia stands, a casual smile on her face. Nords. Ever arrogant and willing to die than to accept a hand from her people. "Aren't you supposed to be my shield and sword? How are you going to do that if you can't stand?" Lydia spits to the side. Azalia sighs. She digs through the bag at Lydia's side and pulls out a few potatoes and a cabbage. "I'm going to make a stew. There's no use in wasting a good fire."

Lydia scowls again. The love that the Nords have for the cold is amusing to no end. The heat of the sun must be melting the woman. Azalia smiles again at Lydia's angry face. She isn't sure if the satisfaction she gets is from giving Lydia a taste of her own mocking medicine or from how pretty she looks when her full lips aren't twisted in condescension for her.

"Do you want anything to eat?" Azalia asks. She watches Lydia rip a piece of her shirt to wrap around her bleeding leg. "Actually you are supposed to be my housecarl. You ought to make the stew shouldn't you? After you finish bandaging your leg? I suppose it is an honor for a lowly dunmer like me to have a Nord cook me a meal."

"I will bloody do anything you like if you'll only shut your infernal mouth," Lydia barks back. She touches her leg tenderly, the blood already soaking through the material she's tied around it. Azalia feels a small degree of pity and extends a hand to her to stand up. Lydia knocks it back. Azalia rolls her eyes as Lydia wobbles to her feet, gritting her jaw. She begins to hobble over to the fire and the pot.

Azalia doesn't feel pity for her. She's a Nord and an annoying one at that. She pushes past her. "On second thought, I'll cook. Everyone knows Nords can't cook worth a damn."

Lydia offers no complaint or thank you.

* * *

"You can't make that face every time I ask you to hold something," Azalia tells her. They're in a cave, a cave that has sprawled on for far longer than Azalia could have ever anticipated. She prefers to hold on to the gold coins she has found—but offering Lydia a better blade than the one she has and having the woman groan and make faces about it is irritating her to no end. "Are you not sworn to carry my burdens?"

"Yes, but how often must you make me carry them?"

Azalia laughs bitterly, her breath fogging in the air. She needs out of this cave. It is too cold. Worse still is how unbearably well Lydia is taking it. Not once has she uttered a complaint about the cold temperature. She seems at home in it. Azalia holds her tongue on the matter. It's taking every effort for her teeth not to chatter. "You'll carry my burdens often as I like. You are my housecarl and are sworn to give your life for me if necessary." At least that's what was said by the Jarl no matter what either woman may believe. "I'm asking you to hold one sword. We can sell it when we get back. We need coin, understand? Otherwise why would we be traipsing through these caves?"

Lydia half-rolls her eyes but contains herself and snatches the sword away from Azalia. "Very well, elf."

Azalia is pleased to no longer have to carry the sword. She claps her hand on Lydia's arm. It's solid muscle. And warm. Azalia pulls her hand back before she lets it over linger. Lydia looks at her warily. "Wait here. I'm going to scout the area." And Lydia is graceless and prone to stepping on everything that makes noise. "I'll shout if I need anything."

"As you wish," Lydia says sounding mildly bored by the matter. She holds the sword by the hilt, examining the blade, "I don't know that anyone will pay a dark elf much gold for this sword. They'll likely assume you've stolen it."

"You can't steal from the dead," Azalia says moving away from her and carefully peering around the corner. "In either case if your Nords begin to exhibit their usual racism I'll have you sell the blade for me like a good housecarl." She turns the corner. Her eyes have long adjusted to the darkness now.

There's water running somewhere but she can't make out where. She'd prefer to not keep fighting skeletons or any other reanimated corpses. She moves forward, every step carefully placed not making a sound. It's darker this way and any shafts of sunlight visible before aren't any longer. She rolls her fingers, flames engulfing her hand. The brightness is momentarily blinding and Azalia is glad that Lydia isn't present to see her moment of folly. She hears a snapping of a bone and turns agitatedly. "I thought I told you to wait—" she sees the massive hulking shape and squelches a shriek for only a moment before she turns on her heel and runs.

She sprints past Lydia who looks after her, eyebrows arched curiously. Azalia runs back and takes hold of her arm. "What is the matter with you—" Lydia starts when she sees Azalia, trying to wrench her arm away.

The bear presents itself. They run towards the cave entrance for once in silent agreement. Lydia's limp from the arrow, previously amusing is no longer so. She isn't as fast as she ought to be and she still, stupidly, carries the sword that Azalia handed her only minutes prior. "Drop the damn sword," Azalia shouts at her.

Lydia shakes her head in refusal. Are Nords usually so stubborn? The bear is rounding on them. Azalia shoves Lydia through the cave entrance and springs back, casting a spell above the opening. An avalanche of rocks crash down, sealing any exit leaving them in a cloud of dirt and dust.

Lydia coughs, still stupidly holding on to the sword. Azalia looks at her helplessly. She's like a dumb dog this one.

* * *

"Take your pants off," Azalia says.

Lydia looks at her as if she's just grown a third head. They've found a relatively secluded spot for the night, by a lake. Azalia is not exactly sure where she is. She doesn't have a map on her and it feels as if she's been traveling endlessly. She supposes that they have been.

There aren't any of the prickly crabs around here; that alone is promising. The night is only slightly warmer than the cave had been previously. The campfire is the only thing able to keep Azalia's shivering away. Lydia's cold gaze is chillier than the night itself. "Whatever you're thinking, don't." Azalia bristles.

"I've heard about you dark elves."

Azalia scoffs. "It's not our fault if you Nord women can't satisfy your lovers," she pulls the knife from her belt, tearing the fabric of her pant leg away. Lydia bats at her but Azalia dodges her swipes. "I'm trying to help you, you idiot."

"You're trying to help yourself."

Azalia smirks. "Sure. You've been surprisingly helpful—you know, when you aren't giving away our position to every bandit or creature in the area," she rips open the remainder of the fabric until she gets to Lydia's knee. It's red and swollen still, dark, too dark in some areas. "Were you planning on dying from infection?" Lydia touches the knee gingerly and winces. "If you die who will carry all my belongings and burdens? No, I think I'll keep you around. And no, not so that you can keep my bed warm." She scoffs. "You Nords are cold. And I don't have a bed."

"You will soon enough, Thane." She picks up the sword and shows it to Azalia as if Azalia hadn't been the one to bring it to her to begin with.

"I don't think that's enough to buy Breezehome. Dragonborn, they say. What good has that gotten me? I need more than a grumbling housecarl; no matter how pretty that housecarl may be." Azalia touches her knee.

Lydia allows it for a moment and frowns, this time really smacking her hand away. "Do not mock me."

"How else will I enjoy myself?" It isn't as if Lydia will climb into bed with her. Not that she wants the silly Nord woman. She takes herself too seriously and seems to perpetually have a stick shoved up her ass. "Stay still, will you? We need to fix your leg; otherwise you will be unable to keep setting traps."

"Nords are honorable people. We don't know the dealings of traps."

"Which is why you're likely to lose your leg one day." Azalia takes Lydia's hand, holds on to it. Any resistance Lydia may be offering is stifled. Azalia meets her brown eyes and looks away shortly after. "I'm trying to help you. So let's put up with each other, shall we?" She releases Lydia's hand. Lydia flexes it but doesn't push Azalia away. Azalia works on healing Lydia's knee, the touch of her skin unbearably hot at times.

Lydia bites her lower lip. When she can't figure out what to do with her arms she crosses them. "You're stronger than you look."

"It took you that long to figure it out?"

" _How?_ "

"I don't know. It's something I was born with. Like this," she nods at the healing she works at, "or your… paleness." She cannot think of anything else overly distinctive about the Nords beside that and their arrogance. "It is what it is."

"Where do you come from? And don't say Morrowind."

"What if I do?" The swelling has subsided considerably and Azalia is relieved. "Why not I tell you that I fare from Windhelm?" Even if she doesn't. "You may have heard of it."

"With the Gray Quarter," Lydia says snidely.

"That's the one." Azalia says brusquely. Are Nords so rude naturally or is it something they must constantly work towards?

"And your parents?"

"They're…" she fumbles, "merchants." Azalia looks up to Lydia then, cutting her off before she can start but looks away just as quickly. "Not thieves or traders: merchants." They aren't merchants. "They're well to do, actually—for dunmer. But I left long ago and I'm not expecting them to support me."

"How do you get by?"

"Anyway I have to." The healing is done. Her fingers graze Lydia's skin. It's smooth, soft and pale. Neither one of them move. "And yes, that includes stealing when I must. But only from those who deserve it."

"A likely excuse."

"What of your family, oh pale one? Would they be utterly ashamed of their daughter following around some dirty dark elf? If they think to shame you with it, tell them it shames me as well and it was all for your regrettable duty to Jarl Balgruuf. And my kindness for accepting his gift. I would have taken the house, if he were actually feeling generous."

"You don't deserve a house."

"But I deserve you? Stop dodging the question."

"I have no family. They passed when I was younger, in battle." Lydia says so easily though not without a degree of sadness. "Battle is the way of my family, battle is the way of the Nords. We are warriors, all of us."

"Is that why you're so serious?" She asks. She pulls the stained makeshift ribbon from her knee. "Or am I just lucky?" Lydia rewards her with another frown. "Would it kill you to smile? Anyway… I'm sorry about your family. Are you close to the Jarl, then?"

"Not as close as some would think," Lydia says with a half sigh. Azalia wonders if she refers to Irileth. "But not as close as I would have imagined, either. I thought I would always serve in Dragonsreach."

"Perhaps when this is all over you will again. In the meantime you'll have to settle for me and the stars." Azalia pulls away and drops onto the mat beside her. "You're good to go. Try not to get an arrow in the knee. Though I suppose we should both be grateful for their poor marksmanship."

"I suppose we should be grateful," Lydia agrees sullenly. She slides onto the mat next to Azalia. "How old are you? I can never tell with your kind."

"Old enough. Older than you." Azalia says with a grin. She isn't sure that that's true, actually. She is younger than most dunmer who leave home. She is young, even, by some human standards. "Why? Are you interested?"

"You're unbelievable."

"And you're pretty. Especially when you pout. Do you realize you do it quite often?" Azalia puts a finger to Lydia's lips. "Like right now." Lydia slaps her hand away. Are all Nords so uptight? Azalia tells herself that it doesn't matter. And it doesn't. Mostly it's fun to torture Lydia and she'll use any method she can. "Relax."

"I'm going to sleep." Lydia turns on her side away from her vexed. "I'll grant you the courtesy and assume that you're only trying to irritate me, my Thane."

Azalia is disappointed that her clever ruse has already been seen through. "I didn't think you so clever. I should be delighted." Instead she's disappointed.

Lydia doesn't look at her but Azalia hears a smile on her lips. "I may not be so light on my feet as you are but I'm not stupid. I'll try to be more careful in battle," she tells her. "Thank you for your… magic. I'll be more formidable if I'm in peak shape."

"Oh, you already are."

The comment goes over Lydia's head. She sounds sleepy. Perhaps she missed it altogether. "The better to protect you with. Goodnight, my Thane."

"You know, you really don't have to call me that." Azalia says looking at her back. She wonders if Lydia heard it.  _My Thane._ These prissy Nords with their customs and their warmongering. Still, without the usual ire in Lydia's eye or in her voice the woman is something like fetching.

Azalia shakes her head. She needs to bed someone. Especially if she's thinking anything fond for the impudent woman. Lydia is a mule for her and nothing more. There is only a short distance between them. Close enough to touch. Azalia scoots in the opposite direction.


	2. Chapter 2

The breath is knocked out of Azalia as a guard grabs her arm, twisting it violently behind her and slams her face first into the side of Warmaiden's. Adrianne Avenicci looks at her suspiciously, despite the many fine lower tier blades and helms that Azalia has forged for her in the past. She tries to push away from the guard but his hold remains steadfast. Lydia looks at her like a dumb ox or if she really has stolen something as the Whiterun guard presumes. She has, but not the sodding cabbage. He pulls it out of her knapsack and waves it in her face, it's enough time for her to break free of his hold and knock his hand back.

The cabbage rolls to the ground sadly, landing near Adrianne Avenicci's foot. Azalia remembers that she  _had_  stolen the cabbage, but not on purpose. She'd meant to pick up a book and had picked up the cabbage—it had been promptly after a battle where she'd taken a hard knock to the head. A pity that hers isn't naturally as hard as Lydia's. Lydia watches the scene unfold quite quizzically and Azalia wonders if she ordered her useless housecarl to murder the guard if he would comply. The guard slams her into the wall again and Azalia curses herself for fixating on her housecarl instead of dispensing of the guard. "Will you do something, Lydia?" she squirms the words out, finding it difficult to talk with her face rammed into the wall.

"What would you have me do, my Thane?" Lydia asks. "I will not break the laws that protect this fair city." Azalia senses a hint of triumph or mocking in her voice. The woman has always been too rigid about the rules. As if to prove Azalia's thought she says: "You shouldn't have stolen the cabbage." Azalia scowls, swearing to kill the woman the moment she is loose. She has killed others for less and sometimes by accident—spells have a way of getting out of control and spreading. Azalia sees Lydia look diligently in her coin purse.

"Did you call her a Thane?" The Whiterun guard asks. His unshaven face scrunches up in thought and doubt. He looks from Lydia who continues to look through the coin purse to Adrianne who clearly has no interest in the pressing matter and continues to sharpen a small blade at the grinding stone. The Whiterun guard looks back to Azalia.

Oh yes. Hadn't the Jarl mentioned something about that? The guards looking the other way or some such nonsense? She really could give him the three coppers it would take to pay the fine for the cabbage or she could pull rank. "I'm the Thane." Azalia looks at the guard knowingly. "You will unhand me in this instance or Jarl Balgruuf will hear of this injustice at once!"

And just like that she's released. The guard offers many apologies and bows a few extra times for good measure before departing. Azalia straightens her clothing. Power! What glory. Adrianne Avenicci smiles at long last, as if the matter will make a fine story for a bard later on in the evening. It likely will and Azalia wouldn't mind beating the licentious bard Mikael again shall he persist with his sexual advances or fool songs.

"That was well settled," Lydia comments.

"No thanks to you," Azalia tells her bitterly. "Next time why not help the guard tie me up or throw in a few accusations of murder?" Better she stop herself before she give the woman any more nasty ideas. Though she supposes Lydia had thought to mention her title of Thane when Azalia had not. Azalia gives the woman the once over; she's nearly buckled from all the armor and weapons that she carries. Azalia should have had  _her_ carry the cabbage since all Nords (and all of Skyrim for that matter) seems to suspect her kind of all manner of mischief. It doesn't matter that she  _did_ steal the cabbage, she hadn't  _meant_ to. Shouldn't it be a matter of intent?

"Go sell what we've found," Azalia instructs Lydia, pointing her to the Warmaiden's entrance. "I'll wait here. Make sure to use your clever Nord tongue to get us a good return."

"As you wish," Lydia says grudgingly yet annoyingly servile as she enters the shop.

Azalia watches her firm rump as she moves into the shop but puts all thoughts of her out of her mind the instant she is gone. Adrianne smirks knowingly at her. "A Dunmer using her housecarl for vile purposes. The people of Whiterun would be appalled at the abuse of a good Nord."

"Then why do you smile so, Adrianne? In either case, the worst I've made her do is carry a few belongings," some three hundred pounds now and then. She's ready to tell Adrianne that there's no such thing as a good Nord but remembers to mind her tongue. "I did slay a dragon, a cute little ox isn't payment enough for all the lives I've saved. She's quite useless for a housecarl," she adds.

"But you know of her clever Nord tongue?"

Azalia blinks, staring at Adrianne. She colors and then laughs. "Oh, that? A jest. If there's any cleverness to Lydia it's well hidden. Exceptionally well hidden." Lydia's clever Nord tongue. As if. Azalia thinks of Lydia's lips and any clever tongue she may hold. The woman isn't exactly stupid… only dense and oblivious.

Well, she supposes that is stupid.

* * *

"This home does have windows, doesn't it?" It's sunny outside. Azalia could have sworn she'd seen windows on the outside. Yet inside the Breezehome home it's pitch black. Lydia is next to her, too quiet for Azalia's tastes. Azalia's sees what she suspects is a torch in a corner and sets fire to it.

Breezehome is illuminated. It is dusty and full of cobwebs. In fact, it is filthy. That sneaky Jarl Balgruuf has tricked her! She paid five thousand septims for this! She glares at Lydia. "Why did you not tell me the state of this home?"

Lydia returns her flabbergasted expression. "How could I know the Jarl would offer this to the Dragonborn?" She looks around as if searching for something positive to say of the home. "Your kind should be honored to be gifted a home in this city."

"'My kind' thanks you for your welcome," Azalia says with a roll of her eyes. "It's no gift if I have to ruin myself to accept it."

"You were ruined long before you purchased Breezehome."

Azalia considers casting a silencing spell on the wretched woman. She ignores her, thinking it best to not feed the troll. "It doesn't come furnished?" Azalia asks sourly. She ventures further into the home, Lydia behind her. "What are these crates?" she goes to one and kicks it. There are carrots in it! "Who last owned this home? A farmer?"

"With a lazy wife, judging from the state of things."

Azalia looks at her sharply. "Or a lazy housecarl." She climbs the stairs to the second floor. More dust, more dirt, more empty boxes full of tomatoes. Is this a prank? How have they not gone bad? Azalia pulls out twine from one of the boxes and holds it up to Lydia. "A housewarming present?"

"A poor gift."

"Like this home," she moves to a smaller room to see a rundown bed. "These will be your quarters, if you must live with me," Azalia says with a small sneer. Lydia crowds around the doorway, peering in. Azalia slips under her arm and goes to what she assumes will be her quarters. The room is large and gratingly without a door (despite the doorframe). There is no bed. She holds the twine in her hand, vexed, unable even to show Lydia how to properly put it to use.

Lydia hovers over her shoulder, looking in. "You can't share my bed," Lydia warns Azalia with a look. Azalia clutches the twine painfully in her hand. Stupid icy Nordic women. "Within a few months perhaps you will find the proper sum to purchase a bed of your own. In the meantime you can settle for me and the stars."

Azalia turns a frigid look to the woman. Lydia mocks her! Where did she find the intelligence to do so? Should she be delighted or punch her in the face? Azalia considers it while Lydia sighs and sadly professes that she will begin cleaning. At least she's good for something.

* * *

"I do not like the look of this," Lydia proclaims, snapping the note open to look at it. A black handprint with the letters 'WE KNOW' beneath. Azalia yawns and turns on her side on the mat she still sleeps on in her bedroom. "It was stabbed into the frame of your door with this dagger," she attempts to show it to Azalia in good faith.

"If anyone knows anything you've likely told them," Azalia yawns again and yanks the thin blanket over her head, "go away, Lydia. Let me have a moment's peace."

"What foul deed have you committed this time?" She remains kneeling beside her, scrutinizing the letter. "Is it that damnable magic? It is no gift. Nords know the foulness of it." Azalia ignores her. Lydia tries another tactic. "I tried to rouse you when the courier came but he was fleet footed and you sleep soundly."

"Not as soundly as I'd like to," Azalia complains groggily. She finally shoves the blanket away and looks at the note again. It's menacing, yes, but so is she after too long without sleep. She snatches the note from Lydia and balls it, throwing it to the corner of the room. "There," she tells Lydia, "problem solved."

"You're too hasty, my Thane."

"You worry too much."

Azalia considers the matter settled until two days later she wakes up in an abandoned shack with three hooded prisoners and a woman stretched across the rafters like a cat, eyes flashing blue, voice tantalizing. Azalia is more bothered by the fact that Lydia was right to worry and to pester than she is being kidnapped and asked to kill in a dingy little shack. All three prisoners annoy Azalia and she's hard pressed to find a reason to not kill them all.

She fries the khajit and is rewarded by Astrid's pretty face inviting her into the Dark Brotherhood. Azalia does but finds their residence bleaker than Breezehome. Assassins are undervalued; Azalia soon discovers she will get paid as much and often times less for killing an innocent than for delivering the right letter to another town. Worst of all, Astrid is married. To an arrogant  _werewolf_ (an old one at that, no Farkas or Aela)who makes it a point to bludgeon his dislike of Azalia over her head. Maybe he doesn't like the way that she looks at Astrid _._

She remains for a few weeks before starting the journey back to Whiterun making only vague promises to kill others for the Dark Brotherhood. Azalia wishes that one of the better known Dunmer didn't happen to be the Night Mother. As if the silly citizens of Skyrim didn't fear her kind enough already.

Sigh.

She is tired and worn when she arrives in Breezehome in the dead of night. Torches burn and the fireplace provides a good degree of warmth. Lydia, sitting at a (new) table near the back of the home stands abruptly, her eyes wide with surprise. Azalia thinks it's been months since they've seen one another. She isn't sure if it feels longer or shorter than that.

"My Thane…" Lydia's brow crinkles as if having forgotten language. Azalia would not be surprised were the revelation to be made. "I feared you dead."

Azalia smirks tiredly. She thinks of the giants, the mammoths, the bears, the sabre-tooth tigers, the dragons and how often Lydia's 'fear' nearly came to pass. Azalia told herself to live if only to spite Lydia. "Disappointed?"

Lydia doesn't have a quick comeback, Azalia thinks, because she's somewhat slow. Lydia comes closer, the glow of the fire flickering across her skin, making her radiant. Azalia feels suddenly self-conscious about the hue of her skin. "Disappointed? Give me a few minutes and I shall be." A rueful smile touches her lips. Lydia appraises her. "Are those new leathers?"

Azalia smiles. Yes, she wears new leathers, black and oily as the night, silent as death—and more importantly, intimidating to any who might land their eyes on them. "The better to kill in," Azalia says with a perfect and well-practiced curtsy. Lydia frowns in response; Azalia is grateful and comforted by the familiar hostility. Better heated looks than soft eyes that confuse her. Azalia easily slips past Lydia and up the stairs.

She has been gone so long that she hardly recognizes the home. Everything is clean and there's a bed! She thinks to thank Lydia but foregoes it. She's tired and had a bit of wine prior to entering Whiterun. Her cheeks are flush. She ought to thank Lydia with words, or carrots, not kisses.

A pity about Astrid, she had hoped the two of them might get along. Azalia falls to the bed, arms wrapping tightly around her pillow like the little assassin who could. She doesn't strip of her clothing. She closes her eyes and sees Lydia. Opens them, to make sure she isn't awake but Lydia isn't there. She fights sleep but it takes her eventually.

Even in her dreams the woman is a pestilence!

* * *

Heimskr the lunatic is ranting again. He is one of the worst aspects of Whiterun. Azalia can scarcely tolerate the man and his inane preaching about the Stormcloaks, and the elves taking everything. She ought to take his life, as the man claims the elves will. Listening to his insufferable dribble, she wonders if it's where Lydia has come to have her many errant ideas. She reveals her theory to Lydia, expecting some complaint and insult.

Lydia gives a small shake of her head. "Heimskr is an embarrassment to Whiterun. He gives the elves too much credit and the Nords not enough." Azalia scowls at her. How is it that the woman manages to take one step forward and thirty back? If only she could slap the silly off of her. Lydia catches her staring. "What is it?"

"Nothing." She considers the tragedy that such a beautiful face should have so little behind it. "Only wishing that we elves were half as clever as you Nords."

"You're far too clever as it is."

Azalia believes it is a smirk that she sights on Lydia's lips! Aren't the people of Skyrim supposed to revere Dragonborns? Or the heroes of Whiterun? Wonders do cease and ever quickly, especially for dunmer.

* * *

She's lost Lydia.

The important thing is not to panic. Not that there's any reason to panic. If she's lost the annoying housecarl than that will be more gift than any amount of weight the pack mule can carry. Still, she decides to wait for a time. Sometimes Lydia lags behind, despite her constant claims of Nord stamina and fervor.

Azalia takes a seat on the pile of dragon bones, laid out like a bench. If Lydia isn't about then it means she defeated the dragon all on her own! No surprise there. Azalia crosses one leg over the other and looks around the area. There are mountains to the left with thatches of yellow grass and a river further down below the edge of the cliff.

Maybe Lydia walked off the cliff. Azalia smiles faintly at the thought before standing and walking casually towards the edge of the cliff. Moments later she's running, on her knees looking down below. No splayed out body there. That's a relief, and a surprise. She isn't sure what she's more surprised at: her relief or that Lydia has indeed  _not_ walked off the cliff.

Perhaps she got stuck behind a pebble. Azalia looks around. She won't call for her. She wipes the dirt from the knees of her pants and looks about indifferently. Where has the stupid woman gone? She needs Lydia to carry the bones back to Breezehome. Shouting to prove her triumph over the dragons will only end in a bloody affair. And chunks of people (or argonians or orcs) in her hair. That first time was so messy.

Azalia determines that she will not wait for her. But she does wait for her for several hours and still there is no Lydia. Has Lydia abandoned her? Has she tired of following a dunmer? Or is she simply  _lost_ (or dead?)? No, she's lost (or dead).

She won't panic. It's best to wait. Hasn't she waited long enough? Azalia waits until night falls. She builds a fire and camps under the night sky and still no Lydia. Finally she returns home, after checking behind every tree and crevice like a maniac to look for her.

Lydia is in Breezehome, on the second floor, eating bread. Azalia makes a face. All that worry and the woman is stuffing her face! "There you are!" Azalia says, "where did you run off to?"

"Here." Her tone indicates that Azalia may be a creature of infinitely lower intelligence.

Azalia is crosser still. "I had… bones for you to carry! And you left me to fight that dragon on my own; what's wrong with you? You're a sorry housecarl! Jarl Balgruuf would be disappointed," she pouts, throwing the knapsack to the floor and sitting beside Lydia who splits the bread in half, offering her a piece. Azalia thumps her head against the table.

"You beat the dragon, didn't you? And you always complain that I give away your position."

"My position will always be given away to a dragon!" Azalia's too tired to fling her arms overhead. "I can't exactly hide from them." She moans into the table. She won't mention that the giants and the bears and the mammoths tend to be more of a problem. She doesn't want the word that a dragonslayer Dragonborn is no match for a sabre-toothed tiger to get out. She may lose more than the title of Thane.

"Are you pouting?" Lydia asks. She cocks her head to study Azalia, grabbing a fistful of Azalia's hair and pulling it gently backwards. Azalia has seen her lift the head of a bandit in much the same way to verify whether they live. "You are pouting." She says with mild consternation. Azalia's crimson eyes lock on Lydia's.

Lydia, looking flummoxed, releases her hair. Azalia's head slams into the table anew. Lydia mutters an apology. She nudges her shoulder gently and offers the bread again. Azalia takes it pitifully and shoves herself upright, an elbow dully on the table. She takes a bite, her taste buds coming alive. "You look tired," Lydia comments softly. Azalia casts a scathing look in her direction before determining that it wasn't another insult. Lydia's fingers delve into Azalia's hair. Azalia freezes in the middle of chewing the bread. The touch is gentle. A moment later Lydia withdraws a green leaf and lets it fall from her fingers. "I'll run you a bath and prepare your bed, my Thane."

Lydia stands hurriedly to prepare the tasks. Azalia finishes the bread and follows the woman to the washroom. Lydia truly is running the water. Azalia bites her tongue to stop herself from asking Lydia to join her. "I thought you were dead earlier. Before I saw you here," she clarifies.

Lydia's eyebrows furrow before she looks back at her, between testing the water. "Disappointed, my Thane?"

"I was. But that was before I knew you knew how to run a bath."

Lydia frowns. She stands and presses a hand to Azalia's chest, maneuvering her to the bathroom wall. Azalia bumps into it pleasantly and for a moment she is dizzy with wild, erotic imaginings. Lydia is all business. Azalia  _knows_ that she shouldn't find her more alluring then. Why must she  _smolder?_

"You're still not very funny." Lydia says.

"I have no intention of making you laugh," Azalia is alarmed at how her words bristle.

Lydia scrutinizes her, then she lets her go. "I'll prepare your bed," she moves past her. Azalia can't help but peek around the corner as the woman moves into her bedroom. It is a feat of willpower to not follow her into it. This is most troublesome. She wanted an ox, not its tail. But what a fine tail it is. She's pulled the shirt away and nothing more, pinning her hair up when Lydia presents herself. Azalia makes no motion to hide herself; the dunmer are not so prissy as Nords or the Bretons. Lydia's eyes move swiftly away.

Azalia feels suddenly conscious of her lightly tinged blue flesh. No Nord should make her feel inferior and undesirable! The wretch. She will find a lover tonight. After the bath. Not Lydia (why not Lydia?). "No offer to help me out of my clothing?" Azalia asks. "You don't need to be a housecarl to ask me that," and many throughout the years have asked by word or look or touch.

"I am your sword and shield, my Thane. Nothing more. Besides that," she pushes away from the door, her fingers lingering on the frame, "Jarl Balgruuf has asked to see me."

"How much of you?"

"He has asked," Lydia continues though Azalia is no longer so sure how oblivious she is to her meaning from the way her cheeks color, "and that is enough. He comes first."

"Often, it seems, and before me," Azalia remarks and continues to get undressed. "Very well, go see the Jarl. Tell him thank you, for my pretty, doting housecarl." Azalia is standing in her underclothes before realizing that Lydia has yet to leave. "Was there anything else?" Lydia is unresponsive before seeming to realize she is watching. "Cat got your tongue, Lydia? Or would you like my own? I know a few places you could put it." Isn't that the Nord tradition, to tear the tongues off their enemies and claim them as trophies of victories? Azalia raises an eyebrow. Lydia goes bright red. She lowers her face before turning abruptly and leaving.

Azalia clenches a fist, thrusting it into the air. Victory! Yet, she is still alone and without a lover. This dry spell must end for her sake and that of Skyrim.


End file.
